


The Other Woman

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Other, jealous tardis, my otp is showing, other is alien/spaceship love, poor clara, whouffle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:38:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1500440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara finally gets the Doctor into bed, the TARDIS is not impressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Woman

Clara stumbles backwards into the room, pulling the Doctor along by his braces, kissing him desperately as her fingers pull the bow-tie from around his neck. They're well past the point of uncertainty, and the Doctor opens her the top button on her blouse, confidently moving his lips to cover her pulse. 

Clara sways with a sudden heaviness, then feels her feet lose contact with the floor. She pulls away. “What..?” she gasps. She feels alternately heavy and light, can't pin down the problem.

“Gravity,” says the Doctor against her neck. “Does that sometimes.” He doesn't sound concerned and so neither is she. It's his ship, after all, he'd know if something was seriously wrong with it. 

The air is too cold and she shivers, which the Doctor takes as encouragement. He lifts her off her feet, half-carries her to the bed. She gasps again as she hits the covers, reaches up to pull him down over her. 

He negotiates the rest of her buttons, pulling her blouse from her shoulders with a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. He rests his head between her breasts and she fists her fingers in his hair. 

The lights flicker. Clara wriggles out of her skirt and, with a sudden boldness, shoves her hand down the front of the Doctor's trousers. What she finds feels reassuringly human, and he moans as her fingers grip him loosely.

“Clara,” he whispers.“My Clara.” He moves her hand and she helps him out of his clothes, eager to feel his skin against her own. The light in the room shifts momentarily to a sickening green as he tugs at the waistband of her knickers. 

“I thought Time Lords were supposed to be patient,” she says with a smile that disappears into a moan as his fingers slip under the fabric. He replies with a kiss, tongue teasing the soft tissue of her mouth.

The walls seem a bit nearer the next time she looks up. The Doctor doesn't seem to have noticed, kneeling between her legs and fumbling with a condom. 

She doesn't ask how big the room is supposed to be, because the words are only half-formed when the Doctor slides into her and she forgets everything. She digs her fingernails into the skin on his back, lifts her legs to draw him closer still. 

It's not gentle, but it's not exactly rough either. It's somewhere in between, and it's wonderful. He's old enough to know what to do and young enough to be able to do it, and Clara applies her own, more limited, experience and even tries a few tricks she's only read about in magazines. 

She thinks she feels the room shudder, but the bed is slamming against the wall, over and over, and she can't be certain. She closes her eyes and soon she's too far gone to care.

She's half-convinced it's going to last forever, that she'll age and die with the Doctor still hard inside her. She can't feel time the way he can, but _something_ is shifting around her as they move. 

She opens her eyes to look at him, meets his steady gaze and whispers something crude and wild. His eyes widen in surprise, like maybe he didn't think she was that sort of girl. He drops his head, kisses his way from her throat to her breasts and back again.

Clara looks up and the ceiling is gone, replaced with an infinity of stars. She shouts her shock and the Doctor misinterprets, biting into her shoulder and calling her name as he comes. She blinks and the ceiling is back, solid and real.

She lies frustrated with the Doctor gasping for breath above her. She lets him kiss her, tries to decide if she should ruin the moment. She's fairly certain he didn't mean to leave her wanting, that he'd make it up to her if she said something. 

“Um,” she says. 

He lifts himself off her and collapses onto his back beside her. Then, suddenly, he sits upright. Clara follows his gaze. The walls are wet.

“That's not supposed to happen,” he says, leaving the bed to investigate. 

Clara sit up and pulls the sheets up around her, suddenly chilled. “It's like it's sweating,” she says, uncertain. 

The Doctor runs his fingers across the wall. He glances back at Clara. “It might just be the pipes.” He's trying to reassure her and she knows it. 

“Your spaceship hates me,” she says, the words leaving her lips before she can stop herself. 

He tastes the fluid on his fingers. “It's just water,” he says. “Nothing to worry about.”

“She's angry,” insists Clara. “She doesn't like what we did.”

The Doctor retrieves his trousers from the floor. “I'd better check the fault locator,” he says, giving her an odd look. 

“Can't you stay for a bit?” she says, trying to sound calm. She manages a smile. “We can go again, if you like.”

The Doctor shakes his head. “She needs me,” he says, and Clara is left with no illusions about where she and the TARDIS stand in his affections. She lets herself fall back against the mattress, blinks rapidly because she is _not_ going let the old cow see her cry. 

The room brightens as the Doctor dresses, the quiet background hum of the ship rising slightly in pitch. He kisses Clara's forehead before leaving to go check on his other woman.

“Gloat all you want,” she says to the empty room, “he's never going to touch you the way he can touch me.” It's a shallow boast and she knows it. Like that matters to the TARDIS, who can claim his hearts as her own. 

Clara turns onto her side. “Stupid bloody aliens,” she says against the pillow. 

The distant noise of the engines mocks her in reply.


End file.
